


not shy of a spark

by surrenderer



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, First Order Poe Dameron, Flirting, Gingerpilot Week, M/M, Power Dynamics, Pre-Star Wars: The Force Awakens, That's Not How The Force Works
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:35:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surrenderer/pseuds/surrenderer
Summary: Is that the work of fate? The Force? Ensuring that Dameron was put in a place to make use of his brilliance, where he’d be instrumental in reshaping the galaxy?For Gingerpilot Week 2020, Day 5 (& 6): The Force (in an alternate universe!)
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Comments: 11
Kudos: 29
Collections: Gingerpilot Week 2020





	not shy of a spark

**Author's Note:**

> It’s my first time writing gingerpilot and all of you have created such lovely, soft works this week that have been a joy to read, and here I am, with... this. But please enjoy our favorite First Order General, hanging out with his favorite First Order Special Forces Commander, talking about his least favorite thing in the world.
> 
> There’s a very brief reference to the events of the [Age of Resistance: General Hux](https://www.comixology.com/Star-Wars-Age-Of-Resistance-General-Hux-2019-1/digital-comic/781579?ref=Y29taWMvdmlldy9kZXNrdG9wL3NsaWRlckxpc3Qvc2VyaWVz) comic.
> 
> The title is from Arctic Monkeys’ [“505.”](https://open.spotify.com/track/58ge6dfP91o9oXMzq3XkIS?si=0C_1koNCS9GboasgRqhdsA)

“They say all the best pilots are a little Force-sensitive, you know,” Dameron says from where he lounges in the general’s bed, bare-chested and turned slightly on his side so he can watch Hux as he works.

Hux glances up and over at him from where he sits at his desk, typing up the last of his comments on the mission report, straight from the command deck’s servers to his datapad a few hours ago. His greatcoat and tunic hang in his wardrobe, leaving him in a thin undershirt and loose trousers that are considerably more comfortable than the structured pieces of his uniform.

Dameron has no such compulsions about neatness and order, so his fighter helmet, the two red stripes gleaming in the harsh light of the room, sits on the corner of Hux’s couch, flight suit and equipment tossed carelessly over the arm next to it. The rest of his clothes create a trail into Hux’s small bedroom, adjacent to the rest of the quarters.

“The Force is unreliable and unpredictable,” Hux says as he finishes his final note on the report before he looks up and over at Dameron through the open doorway. The lights are dimmed in the other room, but he still looks unfairly tempting in the softer light. “You can’t quantify it and you can’t control it. It’s no better than a faulty blaster.”

Dameron raises a brow. “You’ve seen Kylo Ren in battle, though. You can’t say the Force can’t be controlled when you’ve seen the way he fights. Hell, even earlier, when we were just flying support for him… he might be the only person on this ship who could fly circles around _me_. And you’ve seen him fighting with that lightsaber.”

Hux nods, grudgingly. The memory of Ren shielding him from certain death as their shuttle exploded around them, and the aftermath of that adventure, is still fresh in his mind. “He’s impressive, I’ll allow that, but the degree of his power and his ability to control the Force is… unusual, or so I’ve been told.”

If only the wretched man had the ability to control his own temper when standing near the _Finalizer’s_ control panels, but alas.

Dameron yawns widely and rolls onto his back, deliberately ignoring Hux’s pointed look. He must’ve come here straight from his mission debrief, which means he hasn’t cleaned himself up yet other than wiping off the elbow grease on his hands. He’s been gone for days, and while Hux doesn’t mind having a warm body back in his bed, he does wish Dameron had the foresight to stop in the barracks for a sonic, at the very least.

“They say the Force just has to like you enough to want to protect you, if you’re going to be the best of the best. You don’t need to _control_ it, you just have to trust it. It’s intuition and you can’t practice that shit,” Dameron continues, like he didn’t get the hint that Hux has no interest in talking about mysticism and magic with yet another person.

But maybe there’s a kernel of truth to it all; Commander Poe Dameron is indeed one of the best pilots they have in the entire First Order fleet. He flies as if the TIE is an extension of himself and his body, efficient and deadly and beautiful as he leads enemy pilots on a merry chase and racks up kills like it’s no one’s business. Hux has considered a specialized prototype for him more than once, similar to Ren’s Silencer. Dameron’s skills certainly warrant it; he’s good enough to lead his own Special Forces squadron after only a year as commander. He’s good enough to go head-to-head with Ren himself in flight training exercises.

Good enough to end up in Hux’s bed the night after his promotion to Special Forces six months ago, because the general is not as soulless as he seems. The constant visits to his office—for _personal_ delivery of mission reports, of course—and the increasingly pleading looks Dameron gave him during weekly troop inspections would wear on any man. He could only resist the bitten bottom lip, and the fluttering eyelashes, and the unruly, non-regulation hair, for so long. It seemed appropriate to congratulate Dameron on his achievements privately after all of that, since he seemed so desperate for guidance.

“That’s natural talent and training, that’s not the Force. It’s foolish to rely on magic and ancient religions to win a war.” Hux has heard enough about the Force to last a lifetime, between the Supreme Leader and his apprentice. But it seems to be on Dameron’s mind tonight, a side effect of completing a mission with Kylo Ren and his personal squadron. “It’s not _magic_ that makes you an excellent pilot. And Lord Ren would have had you eliminated, or recruited, early on if you showed any Force-sensitivity. Surely you’re not trying to tell me that you hear voices in your head when you’re in your starfighter?”

Dameron is quiet, quiet enough that Hux thinks he may have fallen asleep mid-conversation before he answers. It wouldn’t be the first time, especially after he’s returned from his missions. “Maybe not, but it feels like it’s where I’m supposed to be,” he finally says. His voice grows softer as he continues. “The only other time I’ve ever felt like that was when I was little. My mother used to take me up with her in our A-wing and we’d fly over the jungles and the pyramids on our way to the city. It’s the only place I’ve ever felt at home. It feels _right_. It feels like I was always meant to fly, like I belonged up there.”

Hux has read Dameron’s file before, long before the man himself was ever in his bed. The son of Rebel parents, a quiet childhood on a farm on Yavin 4, a few mystery years before he enlisted with the First Order on some desolate Outer Rim planet with fire in his eyes for the bleakness and chaos he’d seen. Passed every flight simulator they had for him with near-perfect scores—and then got those perfect scores once he was further ahead in his training.

Is that the work of fate? The Force? Ensuring that Dameron was put in a place to make use of his brilliance, where he’d be instrumental in reshaping the galaxy? He would have ended up in the New Republic’s fleet otherwise—or stars forbid, the Resistance, if the skies and his rebel heritage really did call to him.

Hux frowns briefly at the thought of Dameron piloting an X-wing for that ragtag group of rebels and traitors, like his parents did. With the First Order, his talents are recognized, at least.

It’s time to change the subject, though; Hux has no need to let this conversation veer into dangerous territory. He is not one to believe in fate, or destiny, or the Force; in the grand scheme of things, all that matters is that Dameron is here, fighting for the Order. “And now you belong here,” he says, closing the mission report file and tucking the datapad away in his desk drawer. He can look at it again before the beginning of the next shift. Ren’s Silencer will also have a report for him, even if the man himself has never turned in a damn mission report in his life. “The New Republic feeds its lies to the galaxy, but not for long. It is at the hands of our fleet, of your pilots, that they will meet their end, not because of the Force. Your talents and your dedication would be wasted anywhere else.”

“Is this what reconditioning sounds like?” Dameron asks, propping himself up on one elbow to watch with interest as Hux crosses the threshold into the sleeping quarters. He doesn’t bother to shed his remaining layers, nor would Dameron want him to. He usually enjoys the reminders of their respective ranks. “I’d be more willing to submit to it if I’d known it’d sound so good.”

Hux allows himself one very small and amused smile. “Someone with your lack of discipline should go through reconditioning more often, not end up promoted to Special Forces.” It’s true, technically speaking, but he knows Dameron has maybe gone through the reconditioning process once, if ever; being a pilot offers him some protections in the First Order hierarchy, but his abilities are so far above everyone else’s that the occasional backtalk, the non-regulation hair, the easygoing camaraderie with both his fellow pilots and superior officers, all of it, has been ignored or swept under the rug more than once.

“Yeah, but that was before I knew what the perks of command could be like.” Dameron waves his hand at Hux, at the bedroom, at himself, lounging in Hux’s bed like he belongs there as much as the pillows do. His grin is sharp and smug, all traces of solemnity gone. He even bats his lashes a little as Hux approaches. “I’m a changed man now. I’ve dedicated myself solely to the First Order and its victories. I’m yours to command, sir.”

Hux hums softly as he gets close enough to the bed to grab a nice handful of Dameron’s hair—soft to the touch, slightly matted from sweat after hours in the cockpit. It’s a reward for Dameron’s sweet words, and it’s one of the indulgences Hux allows himself when they play their games—which is already an indulgence in itself.

He slides his hand into those soft curls, shaking his head in mock disappointment even as he runs his fingers through them tenderly. “Don’t flatter yourself, Commander. You may be here, but you’re still reckless, over-confident, so ready to think that you’re better than everyone else. Who’s to say I couldn’t find another irresponsible flyboy to take your place?”

Dameron pushes into his touch, preening at the insults as he always does. “But you wouldn’t. If you didn’t think I was the best, I wouldn’t still be here.”

It’s true. Hux likes his men brash, cocky, a little conceited, and he enjoys breaking them in. Dameron checks all those boxes, and more.

Still, it won’t do for Dameron to get bold with him, although his impertinence is part of the game. Hux tugs sharply on his hair, making him bare his neck and tilt his chin up with a gasp. “All these pretty words, but so far, you’re all talk, no action. If I wanted that, I wouldn’t need _you_.”

Dameron’s eyes flutter shut at the pull, long lashes brushing the top of his cheekbones like he’s some holofilm star. “I can prove myself, sir,” he breathes, although the satisfied smile on his face makes Hux feel like he walked right into a trap. A highly pleasurable one, though. Dameron’s breath is warm against his skin when Hux rubs his thumb over that pretty mouth of his. “I could do it right now? A demonstration of my skills?” He flicks his tongue over the pad of Hux’s thumb, a small sample of just what he could be using his mouth for tonight, and looks up at him to gauge his reaction.

Hux hums a little under his breath, like he’s considering it. Like he’d say no. They both know he won’t.

Finally, he lets go of Dameron’s hair and pushes him back down onto the mattress. He goes down willingly and Hux doesn’t break eye contact as he gets on the bed properly too, straddling his shoulders and sitting back on his haunches to admire his prized pilot.

All of Dameron’s jokes aside, he was right about one thing: the general has high standards, and his commander meets every one of them. He looks good under him like this, but he always does, eyes dark, tiny smile lingering on his lips as he looks up at Hux through his lashes. So eager to play, as he always is. Hux relishes it as he slowly unbuttons the fastenings on his trousers with one hand, slipping his thumb back into Dameron’s mouth to keep him occupied while he strokes his cheek indulgently.

“Go on, then, Commander.” Those lovely eyes flutter shut again; Dameron scrapes his teeth against his thumb and moans in response. “Show me what you can do.”

**Author's Note:**

> 2k words and there’s nothing to warrant a full E rating. I’m so sorry.
> 
> You can yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/parttimewonders) and [Tumblr](https://part-timewonders.tumblr.com/).
> 
> 7/16: I've posted a short scene from a possible sequel [here!](https://part-timewonders.tumblr.com/post/623811518914560000/kill-the-messenger-fopoehux-au)


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